(Jay and Harley kissing before Jay leaves for work.)
My first kiss was in Indiana. Eric from down the street liked me, I knew, but had no idea how much. On this day, he had just asked me out to play and we were about to make a plan for the afternoon. As we walked out the back porch door, I dropped my quarter machine ring down the top of the washing machine that my dad had placed outside the back door to be carried away. I was ticked off, but figured that it would not be a big deal. I leaned over the top of the machine, which had had the top pulled off so that the drum was exposed. My ring had fallen between the drum and the wall of the machine, so I had to stretch my arm as far as it would go. I couldn't quite grab it, so I pulled myself up with a grunt, and leaning forward to contemplate my next move, I placed my little seven year old hands on the sides of the washer. While I was trying to figure out what I could use to extend my arm reach, Eric leaned forward really quickly, hesitated ever so briefly near my face, but sped past my lips to my hand. I pulled my hand back, not knowing what to say. I was a tomboy sort, always digging in the mud, climbing our apple trees, defending the neighborhood weaklings from Joey Herring, and playing swords and cops and robbers with my baby brother. I was not even aware of boys except as playmates, and Eric was the boy that followed me around everywhere, had a little bit of a speech impediment, and rough housed with us in the swimming pool. He was not really someone I would have ever considered kissable. I pulled my hand back gently, while looking at him with incredulity. I paused for just a second before asking him if he thought we could reach my ring with a stick, and we went back to problem solving.
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